


Prince of Cats

by Zarichka



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Small!Therion, slow start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarichka/pseuds/Zarichka
Summary: Pale, scarred hands tugged at a deep sangria scarf. To put it bluntly, he was small in stature. The only thing that hinted at his true age was the striking, teal green iris that peered out from underneath curly pale strands conveying a level of maturity.Like a cat in human form. Compact yet predatory.





	1. Commoner's District

Bolderfall was a town unafraid to separate the wheat from the chaff. It was the largest settlement in the entirety of the Cliftlands. The middle class made up most of the population, with modest sized houses neatly contrasting the orange-dusted cliff side. These people made living wages, most being miners, enough to comfortably feed a family and occasionally indulge in casual entertainment. The aristocracy resided high upon the tops of the cliffs. They boasted luxury houses stocked with riches and excess for all the world to see.

High above it all, a silent mansion looms over the town. It once housed the longest established family in all of Bolderfall, the Ravuses. These days a single woman, the last remaining descendant, is known to live there now. However not a soul in the entire town has ever caught a glimpse of her.

Between both middle and upper classes, there was an unspoken agreement that no one could know of the city’s dirty little secret- the Commoner’s District. Underfoot, the undesirables were crammed in the underbelly of the cliffs, often going weeks without seeing the light of day. It was a slum town of the destitute, regarded as a rats nest of paupers, beggars, thieves, prostitutes and the like. The houses were bare with meager furnishings and rooves dotted with holes. The only thing separating the slums from the rest of the town was a set of rickety wooden steps that lead to the filth below. Travelers wandering into town were met with the same welcome. A warm greeting and a stern warning: don't go downstairs.

The tavern bell chimed as a small figure in a lavender cloak strode up to the barkeep. The barkeep lifted his head at the tinkling sound of coins hitting the wooden counter top. His eyes first landed on a scarred hand. With slender fingers and a lithe palm, were it not for the white cross thatching scars littering the skin, the barkeep would have described the hands as dainty. Living and owning a tavern in the Commoner’s District for 10 years, the barkeep could read his customers like a tome from appearance alone. _Always scrappy, this one. Heathcote will appreciate what I send him for once._

“The usual.” The voice had that sharp yet smooth quality, rivaling that of ice.

“Right away.” The barkeep nods and sets about his work retrieving his better spirits. What good barkeep doesn't know his new favorite customer's drink of choice? He smiled humbly as he set down a nice heaping mug of mead “As ye like it.”

“I ‘eard that thief's at it again.”

“Really? What's he done this time?”

Two noisy, amateur pickpockets bark amongst each other at the table in the far corner. The barkeep grins knowingly to himself as he and all the other eavesdropping patrons overhear the two gossip about the recent feats of the fabled master thief.

One day a legendary 'Prince of Thieves' came onto the radar and has been making a name for himself over the last six years. In all that time he has never been caught and nor his face ever revealed, making him now a well known urban legend all across the continent. The barkeep has heard it all by now. They say there exists no mark too difficult or dangerous, that the Prince has stealth skills unlike anything Orsterra has ever seen. Some believe the Prince is a ghost, as treasures just up and vanish before people's eyes with no trace left behind. Anything and everything is up for grabs and if it hasn't already been stolen yet, it’s only a matter of time before the Prince spirits it away- never to be seen again.

The barkeep returned his attention to the cloaked figure. Pale, scarred hands tug at a deep sangria scarf. Had the barkeep not been serving this same patron alcohol for the past few days, he'd have thought him to be under the legal drinking age. To put it bluntly, the male was small in stature. If the barkeep had to guess, he would say around five feet and not much higher. The only thing that hinted at his true age was the striking, teal green iris that peered out from underneath curly white strands conveying a level of maturity. _Like a cat in human form. Compact yet predatory._

As the two greenhorn thieves wound down for the night, the small male drank down his mead faster with a hint of bitterness. The normally bright teal eye glazed over, lost in melancholy. The barkeep shrugged to himself. _Even with those two idiots strokin’ his ego in his very presence, he's brooding. Moody little cat, ain’t ye?_

Upon downing the last sip of his drink he huffs a sigh and snaps his gaze up at the barkeep. If he noticed he was being watched, he doesn't comment on it.

“Fill it up.” The mug hits the counter top with a bang and skids across.

“‘Ere ye go” The barkeep places the mug before his patron. He poured a bit less than the first round but that too goes unacknowledged. He's experienced and has always been able to guess his customers’ tolerance level with high accuracy. _Smaller livers get smaller drinks._ And he wanted him sober enough to remember what he says next.

Putting on his most unsuspecting grin, he drawls “Beg pardon, but would ye ‘appen to be after them Ravus's treasure?” The small male crosses his arms as snowy eyelashes flutter closed with a perfected look of indifference gracing his features. _Hook, line, and sinker._ Although he doesn't even spare him a glance, the barkeep knew he had his undivided attention. “If ye are, I suggest ye think again. Heard another would-be fortune hunter was tossed in the dungeons yesterday.”

“So what's the count now?” If the barkeep had any doubts before whether his reverse psychology was working, he was assured then.

“A score, maybe more. But House Ravus ain't known to be kind to those who covet their wealth. Still, poor thieves can't help but flock to that manor like moths to a flame.” The barkeep simply smiles wider as his patron fixates on him with a scrutinizing stare. “Suppose it's all those rumors of their riches that keep ‘em comin’. Some say it's enough to buy up the whole town and then some.”

That single teal eye rolls. “Just one town?” The smoothness of his voice belies the sarcasm bubbling beneath the surface. “What about the neighbors?”

“Can't say for sure. No one's ever seen the treasure.” As if following a script, the barkeep turns his back on his patron as he nonchalantly walks to the sink to wash out a few mugs. A frustrated teal eye follows his every movement. He smirks as he imagines the protest on the tip of the petite male's tongue. As if he would actually drop the conversation there before the final blow. Over his shoulder the barkeep remarks, “Even that master thief they keep talking about would have more than his hands full." He could feel the daggers being glared into his back.

“A perfect tale for the tavern.”

The barkeep gives a practiced sigh before putting on his best ‘fatherly-advice’ voice “Look. When ye been in the business long enough, ye can tell things at a glance.” He makes his tone sound as warm and genuine as possible. “Yer a smart and skilled young man. Probably ‘ave a long career ahead of ye. That's why I'll say it once more: stay away from that manor.”

“Thanks for the advice.” He hisses. “Next time I'll have a tale of my own to tell.” He makes a graceful 180° turn on his heel and saunters away from the bar, tails of his scarf flowing right behind. The barkeep smirks to himself as his favorite customer makes a beeline for the tavern door.

And with that, the barkeep has successfully served another fool on a silver platter to Heathcote. He mentally applauds his own acting skills. Maybe instead of a barista, he should have made his career as an actor. Or maybe even a puppeteer. As much as he loves his teeny-tiny Prince of Cats, he loves the leaves from House Ravus jingling in his back pocket so, so much more.

 

The tavern bell chimes. It’s near closing time when the little cat returns to the tavern.

“Ah, yer back.” He turns his attention from the glass.

“With a tale to tell, too. I’ll trade it for a drink.” He purred real sweetly, almost convincingly enough to cover up the undertones of fury, indignation, and rancor. The bartender chuckled.

“‘Fraid I don’t deal in that currency.” The glass in his hand glistened as he wiped it clean. The little thief bristled at that.

“Listen.” The sound of a palm landing on the counter top was followed by the clinking of chain links. _They caught, collared and chained the most feral tomcat of all. Well what do ya know? Six years of freedom have come to an end for ye, little one._ “I just came from Ravus Manor. Had a lovely chat with a fellow named Heathcote. Maybe you know him?”

“I did warn ye not to go there. So, was it everythin’ ye expected it to be?” He shook his head, cloud white hair flicking with the movement.

“All that and more, and now I’m feeling _awfully_ thirsty.” He tilted his head and smiled as if sharing in an absurd inside joke between close friends. “I might need two drinks to get this bad taste out of my mouth.” Thoroughly charmed with his favorite now-very-pissed-off little cat, the barkeep laughed heartily.

Ah, right. This was why he was his favorite. No other fool in all of Orsterra was equal parts brilliant enough and stupidly impulsive enough to get up to such chaotic hijinks as the legendary Prince of Thieves. It was down right hilarious.

“Heh. Comin’ right up.”

In exchange for a laugh at his expense, two free mugs of his best mead were slid across the counter.

One mug had slightly less than the other.

Neither one of them addressed it.


	2. S'warkii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S'warkii, like all the towns in the Woodlands, was not known for much. However it was one of the only towns where humans and beasts lived in equilibrium. The hunters residing there treated the wildlife with the utmost respect. No part of the hunt goes to waste. The meat nourishes the population. The pelt is made into clothing that reflects the original animal as much as possible. The bones are finely crafted into weapons. No man catches more than his fill, for he knows that if he did, there would come a time where there is none left. To the west side of town lies the peaceful Whisperwoods. Considered a sacred place for its plentiful game and peaceful atmosphere, not much happens there. Recently however, there has been much astir. A monster has taken occupancy deep within the recesses of the forest.

All creatures were not created equal.

The human body is not particularly threatening in form. With jaws lined with small flat teeth and a single pair of canines too dull to pierce even mildly thick hide, their bite was not of much concern. Their 'paws' consisted of long fragile fingers with blunt nails that could be hardly considered claws. However it was well understood by every animal in the forest that humans were the most dangerous creatures in all of Orsterra.

While a wolf may track down a deer over the course of a few days, a human can clear an entire forest by razing it to the ground in the span of a few hours. Humans release toxic chemicals out into the wild with the hope of killing as many of a species as possible, poisoned water ways be damned. They build huge ships with trawling nets that scrape the bottom of the oceans bare, leaving nothing but sand for miles. They massacre animals by the thousands just to make a fashion statement. They chase rare beasts to the ends of the earth simply to mount the corpses and be lauded for their actions. All across the continent, the war between humans and animals rages on. However, the disparity between forces was undeniable. Beasts lay slain. Humans triumph.

The Gods did not design humans as agents of slaughter or warfare. Humans stepped into this role on their own accord. ‘Animal’ was the word considered synonymous with ‘monster’. But perhaps ‘human’ was an even better fit.

S'warkii, like all the towns in the Woodlands, was not known for much. However it was one of the only towns where humans and beasts lived in equilibrium. The hunters residing there treated the wildlife with the utmost respect. No part of the hunt goes to waste. The meat nourishes the population. The pelt is made into clothing that reflects the original animal as much as possible. The bones are finely crafted into weapons. No man catches more than his fill, for he knows that if he did, there would come a time where there is none left. To the west side of town lies the peaceful Whisperwoods. Considered a sacred place for its plentiful game and peaceful atmosphere, not much happens there. Recently however, there has been much astir. A monster has taken occupancy deep within the recesses of the forest. A violent breeze crashed through the trees. The leaves shush the forest into stifling silence.

Slitted pupils scanned over the treeline, searching for any hint of life. Whiskers twitched as cornflower blue eyes narrowed upon several twisted figures in the distance. Silently, a large silhouette prowls towards the shredded carcasses on the side of the path. Rounded white ears, rotate around their axis like satellite dishes seeking news of any kind. But there was only white static to be found. It seems even the other creatures knew to remain reticent, lest any noise be met with fatal punishment as well.

“Grrr...”

“Linde what is it?... Spirits haven mercy.” Corpses, both human and animal, lay strewn about across the ground. Master’s eyes closed as her hands tighten into fists. The snow leopard flicks her tail and lifts her highly sensitive nose up. As if it were second nature, she could smell the heavy emotions settling themselves in her master’s heart. She pads up to the huntress and leans her sturdy body against her master’s leg. _Keep moving Master, we must continue onward._ In the back of her mind, she has always wished for a higher functioning tongue, dexterous enough to convey her thoughts.

“Mrrao.” However, her flat bristled one would have to do for now. A firm hand rests against her head.

“This was not done in the name of survival. The ghisarma sought not food. It sought sport… and wanton slaughter.” Master reached up and threaded her hands through her champagne locks, smoothing down her braid. “It sleweth these men and beasts for no reason, other that as a fearsome show of its dreadful power.” Linde steeled her gaze at the sound of something approaching.

Two woodland wolves limped towards them. Master held out her hand to the beasts, but they flinched upon noticing the human standing near their fallen brethren. “I see thou tremblest, little ones. Thine heart is fillede with fear.” The dredges of sorrow in her chest leaked into her voice. “Thou witnessedst what the beast did. It _madeth_ thee bear witness.” Her tone hardened as determination dripped into her bloodstream.

The huntress strode towards the lifeless body of a guardsman. There was no doubt that he died trying to protect his travelling companions. She lowered herself to the ground, crossing her arms over her knees. Steadying her voice, she spoke softly to the deceased man. “...Patience. I shall returne and attende to the fallen. But first, they shall be avenged.”

Master had an exceptional talent for connecting with the hearts of animals. The wolves ambled closer to her, for they too could feel the compassion within. “Wilt thou protect them, friends, until my return?” The wolves wore a somber yet resolute expression, holding their heads up high. “...Thanke thee.” The huntress rose to her feet and gave the wolves a decisive nod. “I shall returne anon.”

Linde followed behind as her master marched ahead. Master’s steps falter as she squeezes her eyes shut. Voice soft and mournful, she whispered “To eaten, to ben eaten… this is the fate- and the privilege- of any beast of the forest... A life for a life. So it hath been since the dawn of time.” She shakes her head, braided hair swaying. “But to slayen for sport- for pleasure or greed- is to betrayen the law of nature.” She drew her hand up to her chest as she gave a shaky little exhale. “Each time a creature taketh more than it needeth, a part of the forest dieth...” She tilts her head up, mint green eyes crisp and clear. “I hunte not merely to keepen Lord Ciaran’s people safe. I hunte to saven the forest itself.” Reflexively, Linde’s throat rumbles into a gravelly purr. Hearing her master’s resolve, the feline knew to her very core that being born a beast would not deter her. Until death, she would stay at her master’s side for there was nowhere else she would rather be.

The leopard has always lived in a strange no-man’s land between the world of beasts and the world of humans. Although the she had no memory of it, her mother had been poached by fur trappers, leaving behind a single orphaned cub. She was quickly sold into the exotic pet trade. Terrified of humans, she fled out into the wild. However she was much too little to survive on her own. Unable to return to the world of beasts, she was picked up by a travelling fortune-teller.

_“Don’t fret, dear. I promise you, there’s someone out there who will comfort your disquieted soul. Love and trust are lessons that must be taught. This world is full of cruelty, but it requires only one pure-hearted person to teach a broken heart how to mend. Just be patient for me, alright?”_

The fortune teller had been right.

As human and beast made their way deeper into the Whisperwoods, vociferous roaring began to echo through the forest followed by the howling and snarling of wolves. The ghisarma was not too far up ahead, but Linde also detected the scent of... someone else. She and her master shared a look of concern before making haste to get to the clearing up ahead.

The beast stood before them. Long, lopped ears framed a sickly purple face with bulging red eyes. Rows of needle-sharp teeth were crammed into a grisly, dripping maw. It’s back was turned to them however. It’s attention was instead directed towards something in its grip. All that could be seen was a shock of white hair. Upon getting a closer look, a small boy was being crushed against the ground, clasped in the beast’s primate-like hands. The beast must have been half blind, as one of its glowing red eyes was gushing blood, the handle of a dagger sticking out. Wolves ran around the beast wildly biting at its legs and tail, trying to get its attentions away from the boy it had ensnared.

The huntress immediately sprang into action, reaching back for her bow with one arm and giving Linde a discreet hand signal with the other. _Sweep._ The leopard launched into a sprint, hurling her body with all her force at the beast. At the last moment, she focused all her momentum in her powerful hind legs, launching up into the air as if with a springboard. Her right paw reared back before she swept it through her target. The unexpected force of the hit took the beast off guard. A bellow was ripped from its lungs as it keeled over. Upon feeling the ghisarma’s grip slacken momentarily, the boy contorted his body to wriggle out of its grip and dashed to put some distance between himself and the beast. The beast had ridiculous speed, its now empty hands grappling for the snow leopard who had tackled it. Before it had the opportunity to, the air whistled as an arrow pierced the center of its other glowing red eye. Now completely blind, the beast began a disoriented rampage in all directions. The huntress fired an arrow between the beast’s legs. A net attached to the arrow tangled around the beast’s limbs, effectively creating a leghold trap. Suddenly, the beast used its long frog-like hind legs to pounce at the huntress.

Time seemed to slow down in that moment. As the huntress reached for her hatchet, she knew she had no time to dodge. With the acceleration of gravity, the creature was too big and hurtling towards the ground way too fast for her hatchet to stop its force. Her body tensed up as she raised the hatchet. Before the beast landed upon her, she saw a purple blur out of the corner of her left eye and a white blur out of the corner of her right eye. There was a loud crunch of metal tearing through bone before a loud thud reverberated through the woods. As the huntress’ eyes caught up with the quick events, she saw the boy standing in front of her panting hard. His left hand gripped his right wrist tightly, knuckles white. A metal cuff and chain clamped tightly as well. In his right hand was a broadsword covered in blood. Linde was resting above the now decapitated body of the ghisarma. She had pounced at the perfect moment to intercept the ghisarma, knocking it off course from landing on the humans, just as the boy had gotten between the huntress and the beast, swinging his blade through its neck. The now bisected remains of the ghisarma bled out onto the forest floor. Everything in that moment was still.

The moment was promptly ruined by the white-haired boy staggering up to the corpse and yanking his dagger out of the beast’s eye socket. A disgustingly wet pop noise sounded as the dagger gave way. Fresh blood coated the dagger and oozed down his left wrist. The wolves from before approached the body. The largest wolf planted his paws into the soil, craned his neck back, and released a haunting howl. Suddenly, it was if the life had been returned to the forest. The buzzing of insects melted with the warbling of birds into an organic duet. Animal calls of all different species echoed together. Song poured out of every nook and cranny, from high and low. A liberating hymn of the forest. Being a beast of the forest, Linde understood what was being communicated. _Freedom._ Her master held a small smile on her face.

“When the strongest of all dieth, his life is returned to the forest.” She didn’t need to be a beast to understand. “Lives entwined, a tapestry woven anew each dawn, every thread a part of the whole.” As her master was monologuing, Linde’s nose sensed something wrong. Her legs carried her over to the boy just in time as he collapsed from exhaustion. She caught his fall before he even hit the forest floor.

 

The fireplace in master’s home crackled with life, embers dancing up high like lightning bugs before vanishing into little wisps. Linde was currently curled up around the unconscious white-haired stranger, his head resting on her side. She flicked her tail as he began to stir. A purr rumbled in her throat as she leaned down to nuzzle the small human. He startled upon waking, jerking up and away from the leopard. Teal eyes blown wide, she could smell the fear and anxiety in him.

“Mrrao.”

“Oh you’re awake.” Master walked towards the fireplace, Hägen the direwolf at her side. The boy flinched at the sound of master’s voice before quickly schooling his expression into a neutral one. The scent of anxiety never left his person even as he went through the motions of acting normal.

“Hmm, well this has been nice and all, but I should be going.” He got to his feet a bit too quickly to come off as nonchalant.

“Grrr...”

“Halt!”

“...Damn it…”

Linde stalked past him and flopped down in front of the door. She stretched her long limbs out to emphasize her point. _You aren’t going anywhere, buster._ Her master strode up to the stranger.

“I wanted to thanke thee for helping us taken down the ghisarma.”

“Hmm sure, whatever. Don’t mention it.” It took the huntress less than three seconds to realize: this person is… rather unpleasant.

“Excuse me?”

“I'm just saying it doesn’t make sense to thank me, I just happened to be there. If anyone should be demanding gratitude it’s you and your pet.” An indignant little growl bubbled up in Linde’s throat at that.

“I wouldn’t aske thou to-”

“Good because I won’t.” Master was a very cool-headed and patient person. She stuck out her hand.

“H’aanit.” She stood there for an uncomfortably long minute as the boy completely disregarded her silent request for a handshake, keeping his arms tucked into his cloak. She dropped her hand and stared him down. Being taller than him, she actually had to tilt her head down to hold eye contact. Linde could smell the discomfort churning within his person.

“...Therion…” He grumbled. Linde met her master’s gaze. The name Therion translated to ‘beast’ or ‘wild animal’. What a fitting name for the skittish, aloof stranger. “also I’m not ignoring you, I just… I can’t.”

“I already saweth your fool’s bangle and I withholden any judgement-”

“No, not that.” His voice seemed a little pinched. Linde perked up, noticing that indeed something was wrong. She nosed up under his cloak, gently grabbing the chain connected to his right wrist and pulling his arm out from under. “Hey! Wait, stop-” Upon tugging on the chain to reveal his wrist, master’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. The wrist was cocked at an angle that seemed… uncomfortable to say the least. _Definitely broken_.

“I am afraide S'warkii hasn’t had a traveling apothecary in months…” Being so secluded had its down sides. With master protecting the town, they had been very fortunate that no serious injuries had occurred during that time. 

“I’ll just deal with it...”

“How? That wrist aren too broken to heal correctly on its owne.”

“...” The scent of anxiety increased tenfold in his silence.

Master let out a deep seated sigh. “Thou art a traveler, right? Where aren thou from and where aren thou going?”

“I’m not from anywhere. But I have business in Noblecourt.” Teal eyes had a slightly pained expression as he admitted to being essentially homeless.

“I headeth towards Stonegard on the morrow. Accompany me.” 

“Why would I possibly do that? That’s entirely the wrong direction.”

“We shalt search for an apothecary to treaten thy broken bone. Then we can goeth our separate ways. Or, if thou wouldst accompany me to Stonegard, I shalt comen with thou to Noblecourt.”

“You’re not giving me an option on this 'traveling together' thing, are you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Mayhap not.”

“Why are you doing this? What do you have to gain from this?” Therion crossed his arms, defensively. He still had a slight tremor and looked about three steps from bolting. She had been wrong, he was not unpleasant. He was behaving like any other cornered animal. Luckily, master had a lot of experience with taming frightened animals. She softened her voice and lowered her posture to appear less intimidating.

“Nothing really. Thou didst try to saven me from the ghisarma at the detriment of thy owne wrist. Something rather important to thievery, I presume. Aren it not fair that I see to it that thoust are back to health after so noble a deed?” Master allowed a soft smile to play at her lips.

“...And what if I just ditched you and headed for the Frostlands by myself?” Clearly unsure what to make of her sudden gentleness, his first instinct was to lash out with words.

“Thou aren muche too fraileth for the harsh climate of the Frostlands, broken wrist or no.” Master gave a little smirk. “Thou aren the secretive type and would never tellen me of thy plans. Suggesting ‘ditching me’ to mine owne ears means thou won’t do it.”

“...” Therion's face was a fraction warmer at that. She got him there. With no comeback, he nestled his face into his dark sangria-wine colored scarf and tried to shut the conversation down.

“I’ve decidedest, we shall head towards the Cliftlands and the Riverlands tomorrow to looketh for an apothecary.” Therion opened his mouth to say something but simply surrendered to the huntress’ plan, still worn out. He huffed and pouted. It was childish and she had a feeling that he would never own up to it.

"Fine, I'll go. But only because I literally can't do my job in this condition. The faster I heal, the faster I can get to Noblecourt. Try to keep up and stay out of my way." Master rolls her eyes at his attitude but seems pleased with his decision.

“Understood. Linde, looken after Therion during our travels to prevent further injury.” Master went back to the kitchen to finish preparing whatever meal she was making.

Linde rose from her place guarding the front door and sidled up next to Therion, pressing up against his side. He immediately side-stepped away from the large cat. The leopard in turn side-stepped right back into his personal bubble. He released a long suffering sigh and went back to his spot by the fire.

"I'm not in the mood to play with you." He glares at the large cat. "...Gods, I'm talking to an animal. I must be becoming one of those crazy S'warkii inhabitants. If you can understand human speech: leave me be." He turned his back on the large cat, shivering despite his proximity to the fire.

Cornflower blue eyes analyzed him from all angles. Something about him resonated to the leopard. _Therion. A human being named 'wild animal'. How strange._  His soul felt similar to hers, stuck between the animal world and the human world. Sniffing the air to read his mood, she detected traces of various things. _Fear, guilt, hurt, shame and much more._ There was only one thing she could really address and perhaps ease. She padded over and began to nuzzle him. At first he was resistant to the touch. After several minutes, the shivering died down and he began to nod off. She sniffed the air once more. The scent of anxiety had almost entirely dissipated. 

_Love and trust are lessons that must be taught._

Linde began to purr. Lulled by the rhythmic rumbling, Therion fell into a deep sleep. Sniffing for the last time, Linde was pleased with what she found.

Tranquility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Gotcha! You thought Alfyn was gonna be member #2? Pfft, no that would have been too easy.  
> A while ago, I decided to try to write the beginning chapters from a different unique character's perspective. I think it makes the narrative more interesting. Last time it was the Bolderfall barkeep, this time it's Linde the snow leopard. Is that annoying to read? I would hope not...  
> H'aanit's accent is kinda hard to write so sorry if it's impossible to read. Just ask if unsure.  
> I gave Linde a background story, felt necessary.  
> I like the idea of Linde bonding with Therion since he has a tough time with people. Also hope that fight scene isn't confusing. I would think that having a +1000 lbs monster striking you from above would break a wrist from the sheer force due to gravity. Not gonna be the one to test that theory though, hehe.  
> Animals are so so good for calming anxious people and those who suffer from trauma. Therion needs that kind of medicine in his life.  
> Happy Valentine's Day! :) Sorry no shippy stuff but like. It'll happen.  
> Next chap we head to Clearbrook! +1 Hale and Hearty Bro  
> (I don't beta read stuff, so criticism and corrections welcome.)

**Author's Note:**

> First fic on AO3, yep. Finally happened. This is very self indulgent but I hope I can make it enjoyable to read.  
> No promises with update times, sorry I'm in college. But I'll do my best.


End file.
